Best of Enemies (With potatoes-are-not-for-sex)
by ijustlovemesomefriedchicken
Summary: Alex Day and Carrie Fletcher; the best of enemies, but at night that all changes. Alex thinks there could be more to Carrie, but isn't hasty to find out about his arch rival. (Rated K for a little swearing).
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1- ijustlovemesomefriedchicken**

Me and Carrie. You could call us enemies if you so wished it. A hate-hate relationship. She hates me, I hate her more. She's a bitch, I'm a scoundrel. A devilishly handsome ladies man, though. And that's probably what she hates the most about me. She could never have me and I coud never have her.

At school we're the two that will never get along. Every time the infamous Carrie and Alex are paired up for a project, the whole class turn to each other, whispering. And it usually ends in a fight- in which I sometimes let her win if I'm feeling gentlemanly that day. Which, let's face it, isn't a lot when it comes to Carrie: I have a reputation to keep up, y'know.

Alex Day and Carrie Fletcher. Like the muggle version of your Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. During the day it's who can get the most insults to the other, who can trip the other in the corridor, who can genuinely be the biggest prat. Oh there's another one of my little pet names: Prat. Or King Prat. To be frank, I prefer the latter.

We hate each other more than anyone could ever describe. But during the night it's...well it's not different, it's the same, but-

Okay, new piece of paper, the old one is currently scrunched up within an inch of it's life, lying in the bottom of the wastepaper basket. We hate each other, but it's a different type of hate once the sun goes down. It's a hateful kind of lust and I'm ashamed to say I love every second. During the night we don't have to put on a big show for everyone. The hate is hate, but it's not simply pure hate, it's something deeper than that, something rippling below the surface. Am I making any kind of sense here? No, I didn't think so.

It's my turn tonight. I sneak along to my parents room and press an ear to the wood; snores come from within. Fantastic. Bryan? The same. My room is an obstacle course to the window but I somehow make it without standing on an upturned plug or a guitar- both have happened before and let me tell you it's bloody painful, not to mention I was an hour late to Carrie's. That was painful too in a sense.

Once I've gotten to the window and slid it open, wincing as it squeaks, I'm out into the fresh air. Full moon, clear night; thank God. This shimmy-ing down drain pipes and trees is so much harder when it's foggy or raining. I had to do it in the snow once too. Carrie doesn't accept excuses, she slaps them in the face. I can't help but smile as I think of all those times before where I just haven't even bothered sending those texts to cancel.

As I get to the bottom of the tree, I lower my skinny body down as silently as possible and then I'm off. I know the route like the back of my hand, I've been along it so many times. I've walked these streets hating myself one way and being extremely pleased with myself the other. The next day people would ask why I'm positively glowing despite my lack of sleep but how could I ever tell them? We'd made a pact- more than a promise, an honour- never to tell another living soul. And as far as I could tell we'd both kept our side of this long and complicated bargain.

One day I'd found a number in my locker, and being the inquisitive little shit I am, I texted it. I simply received an address in return. As I stood on the front lawn, my phone pinged yet again; "Climb up to the window at the back, right hand side." And that was how my body had to get used to about three hours of sleep a night, tops. And maybe the odd snooze in maths class.

Here I am, standing on that same lawn. Hasn't changed a bit, even though this has been going on for well over a year now. Sometimes I just like to stand and wonder what would happen if one night I decided not to climb up. Maybe one night I'd gather up the guts to turn and go back to bed. Maybe, but I doubted it. I knew I wouldn't be able to. There's another thing I hate to admit as well. I need Carrie, whether I like it or not.

She doesn't need me, though.

I take the same path round to the same tree, avoiding those same windows just in case. Her damn dad keeps cutting this tree back, which makes it harder and harder for, say, a little scoundrel to climb into his precious little princess' room. I'd heard him call her Princess a few times, and that had become one of my annoying pet names for her. Not nearly as utterly fabulous as mine, obviously.

Usually when I'd get up to her window, she'd be in bed, dozing. But this time she's on the little window seat, curled up with a book; her eyelids are a bit droopy though. Call me a stalker, but sometimes I just like to watch her for a minute or so. I'm not sure why. Know thy enemy and all of that. So far all I had learned was that she sleeps on her left side with nothing sticking out of her blanket.

I scuttle over to the middle window and tap lightly with my finger. Her head shoots up as she's obviously startled out of _The Book Thief_ and she gives me the finger, not to mention a death glare, as a punishment for scaring the life out of her. She lifts herself up gently as her legs are still asleep and unlatches the window. She pulls my head in by my collar, roughly kissing me before letting go. "C'mon in, Prat."

"Nice to see you too, Princess."

Her room is the same as ever, pictures and postcards all over one patch on the wall with her guitar, laptop, half a dozen bookshelves filled with books and various other items surrounding her bed with it's rose patterned duvet. It's almost ironic how lovely her room is compared to the occupant.

"Louise was wanting to stay over tonight, but I told her I had plans."

"Why'd you cancel?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Because I know you can't live without me," she smirks as she pulls me in for another rough kiss. For everything else I would've had a comeback ready to throw at her like a hand grenade, for it to explode in her face with a sting of insult, but even I can't deny how hungry I am for those few and far between kisses with the girl I hate the most in the entire world.

* * *

_**Hey there, you look nice. Did you do something with your hair? Yeah, you look nice...so... REVIEW ON MY STORY OR DIE.**_

_**Just messin' with ya. ;D**_

_**Just a little collab me and the lovely potatoes-are-not-for-sex (is that not just the best username ever?) are working on. You should go and read her stories because they will improve your life in every possible way, trust me. **_

_**Hope you enjoy! ~ Lauren. **_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: by potatoes-are-not-for-sex

I wake to up to the smell of Bryan burning the toast again and the taste of Carrie's lips. It's a slow drudgery, my dreams slipping away between the fingers of my rousing mind, silken and insubstantial, they glide on by despite my best efforts. Still slightly incoherent and sleepily melded into my sheets, I savour the indulgence of her piquancy, so real and overwhelming despite the empty pillow beside him. She tastes warm and brilliantly noxious, and I clutch haplessly at the slowly fading memory, silently counting down the seconds before the imminent wail of our smoke detector would drag away any last vestiges of slumber.

I don't have to wait long.

I've only just begun to daydream- it's Carrie, of course, that damn girl won't leave me alone even in my own thoughts. There's a glorious, smug smirk painted across her face, her strong legs are straddling my waist, her luscious hair cascading down in a blonde veil, her full lips relentlessly descending onto mine- then the shrill cry fills my ears and slogs me from my pillow to the kitchen, where Bryan is unsuccessfully fanning the alarm with the morning paper. Getting up onto the bench, I reach out with protesting muscles, straining until I manage to flick off the alarm, before clambering off and fixing my brother with an unabashedly odious glare.

"You can't cook toast for shit." One piece of the burnt bread is already hanging out of his mouth and he shrugs off my words with nonchalance only a teenager could manage.

"At least I don't look like shit." I don't bother with a reply because he probably makes a good point. I'm yet to greet my reflection, but all bets are a mirror would reveal that my three hours of restless sleep have left their toll in even more dark circles beneath my eyes. You'd think my parents would be more worried, but I assume they've put it down to

The score settled for now, we both guzzle down breakfast in verbal silence, our fraternal feud hardly worth the energy I had at this time in the morning. Before long, I'm dressed and trudging to school, backpack bouncing off the back of my thighs. There's an extra spring in my step, pulling me towards the rusted gates of school, even if it's only been a few hours- I'm burning up to see Carrie once more.

She's there before I am, as always, perfectly and poised, lips pursed with disdain as I enter the classroom. The snarky insults are only a moment behind.

"It must have been a sad day for your parents when they realized you weren't going to grow out of it."

The bait is irresistible.

"Grown out of what? Being this gorgeous?" I mimic flicking hair over my shoulder, a pointed jab at Carrie's infatuation with her golden locks. If she gets the references, the only sign of it is her eyebrows itching slightly higher up her perfect brow.

"Well, maybe the doctors had hoped for something better, but apparently your face is stuck looking like an arse forever." A few of the other kids chuckle at this, but I have a reputation riding on this and I'm not about to surrender to a quip like that.

"Is that the best you can come up with? Frankly, lets just consider ourselves lucky that you're not the one with an arse for a face, because given the choice- at least mine would get through doorways." Carrie hitches her skirt a little, her eyes narrowing. A slight tilt of her head is all it takes for my memories to take hold again, grinding on her innocent floral bedspread, my hands clasped firmly around that frankly gorgeous-

"At least I'm not some rake looking like a particularly pathetic sliver of nothing that's slithered up from the sewers and would just about bite your arm off for a decent meal. Didn't anyone tell you that humans are supposed to actually have muscles? Or did they just get lost somewhere within that awful mound that you actually have the insolence to call hair!" One hand automatically rising to flatten down the aforementioned tresses, I'm just about to retort when I hear a loud cough from behind me.

Shit.

I spin on the spot to face our form teacher, Miss Langham, who's threatened both Carrie and I more than once about our, what she called, 'un-sportsman like' behavior. If I were to warn sometime about Miss Langham in two sentences, the first would be that it's always easy to spot her coming across the yard to yell at you, the bright orange hair really stands out amongst a crowd. Secondly, Miss Langham is _really_ not a morning person. (800)

"If the entire class is not sitting down and quiet by the time I'm at my desk, it's detention for all of you until April." The threat is deadly real and almost enough to shut us up- for now we all scurry to our seats, Carrie beside in the second row, her nails already scratching into her desk, leaving malicious messages for me to find later no doubt. I head to the back row, nodding a greeting to Charlie, before tossing myself into the chair and swinging my feet up to rest on the desk.

Miss Langham drops her bag onto the desk noisily and glares at us all, just waiting for an excuse to follow through on her threat of detention. Tipping my feet off the desk, I slump my chin forward to rest on the splintered wooden surface and stare ahead glumly. Another whole day of school before tonight, can I really wait that long? It's just classes and school work and stupid teachers. Shifting my gaze slightly, I watch the back of Carrie's head tilt sideways as she listens to whatever Miss Langham is rattling on about.

There's something exquisite about her, despite the ugly descriptions I constantly throw her way. I know she'd obviously never think the same of me, she's stated that quite clearly, but there's a silent surge of satisfaction at the thought of me being the one who's bedroom she's going to be sneaking into tonight, despite many others who'd do give an arm and a leg to take my place. Sure, she's a bitch, but there's no denying that she's a stunning one.

At some point, Miss Langham started doing the roll, because I'm startled out of my thoughts by the call of- "Alex Day?"

"Here!" I reply, and in the silent moment before she calls the next name, Carrie mock whispers, "And horny as hell!"

Snapping her folder shut, her face reddening to match the shocking shade of her hair, Miss Langham tilts her head forward, peering over the top of her glasses directly at me.

"I do beg your pardon Mr Day, could you repeat that for us all to hear?" As the class turns around, faces slightly brighter at the initiation of some humiliation to start off their day, I catch Carrie's eyes, glinting with maddening purpose. The crafty minx.

Tonight definitely can't come soon enough.

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_Yay two chapter! I hope you liked it, please let me know what you liked, what you didn't and hopefully see you soon :D_

_xxx panfs_

_p.s. how epic was that first chapter? seriously._

_**(p.p.s the second one was so much better, admit it. :D ) **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: ijustlovemesomefriedchicken.**

Miss Langham; such a loveable character. She just has such a fantastic sense of humour, great patience with the mischievous likes of I and so many other particles of her beautiful personality that make her such a marvellous woman. Such a marvellous woman. I have plenty of time to think of this as I'm sat in detention for over an hour, pondering over my chances of getting a quick shut-eye. I could just doze back in my chair until I hear her coming or I could take a chance and full-out sleep or I could-

"Psst. Hey, scumbag!"

My head shoots up to the door where there is stood none other than Carrie, that bitch of a cow that landed me in here. Her hair is bouncy and curly as always- yet still sits perfectly, which I will never understand- as she peeks around the door frame at me; there's so smile, no wave- no surprises there- but I can tell she's been peeking into many a classroom, looking for me.

"Look what the cat dragged it. Not before dragging it through three hedges backwards first, of course," I smile, nodding towards her hair.

She simply rolls her eyes at me like I'm her annoying little brother; Thomas, I believe his name is. Or maybe it's Dean. I'd be lying if I said I'd ever gave a damn about Carrie in that way before. "Real mature, sleasebag. Where's bitch-face got to, then?"

It's then I notice Miss Langham stood directly behind her and I have to hide the smirk that's threatening to take it's usual place on my face. And not just the usual one that I save just to annoy the shit out of Carrie, I mean the normal Alex one too. I catch my sworn enemy of a teacher's eye for a split second before returning my gaze to Carrie, my even more so sworn enemy, who has crossed her arms over her chest. "Didn't you see her?"

"Do you think I'd be asking if I'd seen her? You can't exactly miss an arse that size, can you?"

I let out a snort as I see Miss Langham's face; it went from curiousity, to shock and now to anger. Her little pet bitching about her behind her back. Oh dearie me. "Miss Fletcher!" she shouts at her as her student jumps five feet in the air and practically twirls around to meet her angry gaze. Oh boy, she's pissed off.

"Oh...uh, hi miss..."

"Care to repeat what you just told your little..." she pauses for a second as she tries to think of the correct word to put in use. She knows of our antics like the back of her hand, but is slightly too professional to say anything that gives us a status other than stupid and childish. One eyebrow finally rises are she decides to say, "Your little..._friend_...Mr Day?"

"Well you already know the answer to that one, miss. Just as you know that cretin certainly isn't my friend. I was only joking around, though, there's nothing wrong with your bum...much..."

Ten minutes later I was no longer alone in the room. "I hate you," she informed me matter-of-factly from across the room- as far away from me as she could get.

"I hate you more, Princess," I smiled back.

She starts to stare off into space as she asks me in a perfectly light and innocent tone, "Y'know what I'm thinking about right now?"

"About me banging your brains out again right here in the middle of the school where anyone could hear us? That would excite a little slut like you, wouldn't it?" I suggest with a small smirk.

She doesn't even scowl at me, instead keeping her calm and collected voice. "No, I'm imagining the ground made of your balls so I could just walk all over them all day long and cause you as much pain as humanly possible."

"If I'm the ground, you're the sewer, Princess."

* * *

_I'm running a bit late, I had to help Tom with his homework. I'll be round shortly Prat._

I don't bother to reply; what would I say anyway? I throw my phone down onto my bed where it bounces once, twice, three times before sitting still, then closely followed by myself. It's not like I'm desperate to see her or anything, but part of me just wishes her brother had done his sums a hell of a lot faster. You're bored, I tell myself. You're just really really damn bored.

Homework? None of that, for a change. Tumblr? No way am I getting sucked into that black hole. Guitar? Too noisey. Computer? Left it downstairs. Music? Headphones are on the dining room table. Xbox? Nope. Well, shit.

Personally I hate all of this sneaking around at night, but Carrie refuses to see me at any other time in case someone spots her and ruins both of our reputations, and I'm not gonna argue with her. Would you argue with Carrie Fletcher? No, didn't think so. Especially when she could just leave me at any time and not come back; the scary thing is, she would do that. And we're both aware of that small fact.

Even when she got me a detention, even through all the insults...she turns me on, I can't lie to anyone about that. She's crafty, annoying and I fucking hate her, but she's a complete turn on. I've seen her at her most vulnerable as she gasps beneath the sheets, but she lets none of it take any chink of her pride as she continues to treat me like her little toy. Maybe that's all I am, but I'm a toy that could never properly be completely hers. And that's where our little issues come in; where do we stand with each other?

"Maybe I am.." I mumble as I make another grab for the phone. Where the bloody hell is she?

A cough behind me almost scares the life out of me, but I know full well she's nothing to be scared of this late at night. A kitty cat with no claws and no one to show them off to even if she did. "Hi Carrie," I greet her, as I turn around. "Uh...what's with the...uh...guitar...?"

"I just thought maybe we could have a little change in plans. It sure gets boring doing the same thing every night, right?"

I let out a short one-syllable chuckle."I am in _no_ way boring, and don't you fucking know i-"

"Don't."

I'm taken aback, to be quite honest. Stunned into an abrupt silence. Carrie turning down a chance to argue, insult and humiliate me? Pinch me. "So, uh...?"

"You do play, don't you?" she asks, glancing over at the guitar in the corner- bashed, decorated and the strings akimbo out the sides- before her eyes dart back to me.

"Well yeah, but-"

"Look, if you'd rather just make out that's completely understandable, since-"

"You're being nice to me..." I frown.

"Right little Sherlock we've got here, haven't we?" she chuckles.

My frown becomes tighter. "What are you after?"

"Nothing. I just thought maybe we could just...hang out?" she smiles sheepishly at me. She's being friendly and acting shy towards me, reproachful. No, this is weird. This isn't right. Shock is a very hard emotion to receive and to hide. She's being nice to me; it hits me like a hard bitch slap to the face and Carrie can see full well what abuse it carried out.

"So, you just wanna-?"

"Yeah," she smiles.

Again the question pops into my mind; where do we stand? I want to ask it so terribly badly as I grab my guitar and we sit on my bed, but I keep my lips clamped as she releases the most beautiful singing voice I have ever heard.


	4. Chapter 4

It's several hours later before she leaves, and the quiet of the room leaves a tangibly different taste on my tongue. The sheets of my bed are cool and markedly unruffled as I slip between them- but I can't be sure whether or not this is a welcome change. Despite everything, somehow our time together feels more intimate than ever before

There's a small patch on the back of my shoulder that tingles beneath my shirt. That's her fault too- she was just leaving, guitar slung over her shoulder and tucking long strands of blonde curls more wearily behind her ear, when she rested a hand on my shoulder, just for a second. It's not as if she's never touched me before- far from it.

I stretch out my feet, toes greeting the coldest corners of the bed, roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Carrie. I'd always known she was beautiful, albeit a viciously snarky bitch, but there was something about her singing that made me want to learn more about the Carrie who taught herself guitar and pinned flowers in her hair before school.

Before today, I figured I knew all that was needed when it came to Carrie: she was a vicious harpy, she loved to tease and taunt me, she didn't let anyone get near to her and she wanted to use me, night after night. But now, everything had been challenged. With one simple request, Carrie has flipped his perspective on one of the most significant people in his live. If he's being completely honest with himself, Alex might go so far as to say that she is the single most important person in his life- the concept of waking up one day to a life without Carrie, between their vicious arguments and their desperate lips- he just can't imagine it.

Somewhere between my pondering and my dreams, sleep crawls up on me slowly, so slowly that it feels like an age before the darkness even starts to settle in the corners of my vision. Shadows tease my mind and silhouettes dance across my room, toying with my exasperated eyes. Grasping at the last vestiges of my consciousness, it suddenly occurs to me that I can't remember the last time I'd fallen asleep lost in thought, rather than just collapsing into my pillow, exhaustion obliterating the motion from my limbs and the deliberations from my mind. Then, there is the clear, steady voice, echoing in my ears. It sings so sweetly, whispers of promises and threats, and she lulls me into a tiresome, restless sleep.

As it likes to do, morning comes with unwelcome speed the next day, with the sharp rays of sunlight and the loud clicking of Dad's razor against the bathroom sink. Next comes the sound of my mum yelling out to my brother- both amusing because I know how much he hates mornings and how little tolerance she has for his laziness, but also filled with dread- I'm going to be next. Like a film reel spun too fast, sharp words and cool morning air blurs into the stench of cologne and coffee shuffling out the front door before I've even made it to the kitchen, most of it lost anywhere between a vague haze of breakfast somehow migrating to a plate and onwards to my mouth, and the unyielding, grey concrete beneath my feet as they carry me through the school gate.

It's not that I expect anything in particular- perhaps that is what's different on this particular morning. Every other day, I walk through here waiting for precisely what I know is going to happen- the gentle comfort of predictability as reliable as the sting of Carrie's words in my ears and her nails in my back.

She's sitting where she always does, second row next to the window. The only window in the classroom- it's no coincidence. Carrie leaves very little to chance. I remember all too well the first day of class- Miss Langham had places a small piece of paper with a name on it on every desk and had us line up at the front of the room.

"In my class, I believe in equality. I believe in a sense of order and I believe in students respecting their teachers. Now, I believe there have been some troubles in this class in particular, but I believe that if we work together, we can get along just fine and learn to be role model young boys and girls." All delivered with the simpering smile of a daemon. She'd believed in a lot of things- but after a year with Carrie and I in her class, I'm sure her believes were being sorely testing.

At her word, we'd dispersed amongst the class, finding our names and taking our seats. I'd quickly made my way to the back row, making a switch with Arushi so Charlie could be next to me, and happily sat down. Looking to my other side, I'd found myself pleasantly surprised to see that Anthony had been put next to me. He was an friendly sort- and most likely could prove fun if he got into the swing of my favourite hobby of finding ways to prank and prod Carrie.

The girl herself had waited until we'd all dispersed amongst the seats, wandering about to find our names. After a moment or so, I'd seen her give an almost imperceptible nod, then make a beeline for the seat beside the window. Lily was sitting there, her blonde hair in two impossibly long plaits, and she was already unpacking her books and pens. Unfortunately for Lily, she'd end up packing them up again a heartbeat later, one look from Carrie (eyebrow slightly cocked, head tilted to the left) was more than enough to tell Lily that this seat had a new owner.

This morning she appears as pristine and perfect as ever, crystal cool in the face of the morning clamour. Miss Langham has not graced us with her malevolent authority yet, so I make my way over to Carrie, my lips torn between a smirk and a gentler smile, trying to gauge where we stood. Had last night been as remarkable for her as it had been for me?

"Hi there fuck-face."

Apparently not.

"Princess. Did you leave your tiara at home then?" I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to keep a cool exterior despite my trepidation below. It's just like any other day, the insults and the hatred and I'm not sure I can do it.

She smirks up at me, waiting, and for the first time, I struggle to come up with something to say. Nothing's changed between us as far as she's concerned, and I wish I could go back to a time when that would have been just fine. But somehow it sets me off balance, and before I can take the time to process the words properly, I cringe internally as they come streaming from my mouth.

"-Or did your mum just take it with her when she packed up and left your sorry arse behind." (1167)

I hear a collective gasp of the students who've encircled us, ready for the "Carrie-and-Alex' show of bickering and bitchiness. This is the kind of information that Carrie would keep close to her chest- one of her most powerful attributes at school is that no one knows a thing about her, it's all hidden behind a cool smile and sharp words. The only reason I know is that when I visit her mum isn't there and when I asked her once if we should be worried about her mum noticing when she got home, Carrie replied saying, "Mum isn't coming back home and good riddance."

The tension between us is crackling and the room is almost silent as everyone waits for the next move in this cowardly game of chess I've started. Carrie's face has not moved an inch since I spoke, no reaction either way betrayed by her features. I almost want to apologise, I know I've gone too far and I didn't intend to ever bring this up at school, but we both have reputations at risk here and Carrie never backs down, so neither shall I.

I keep waiting and Carrie keeps staring and the longer time passes the more I feel like her gaze is boring into me, burning at the retinas and borrowing through to the core of my brain, tearing me apart. Then almost when I feel like the pressure is unbearable, she slowly rises to her feet and walks over to me, her scrutiny unwavering. She's barely five inches from my face when she speaks, and when she does it's a clear sentence, not a single person in the classroom could have missed it.

"So you think you're better than me Prat? I'd love to see you prove it."

There's a beat and at this distance I can see that her eyes are shining slightly more than usual, and I'm about to lean forward slightly and say something- to comfort her or to take back what I blurted out, but she cuts across me before I get the chance.

"After school, down behind the factory. And don't you dare tell me you wouldn't punch a girl or I will staple your balls to your nose so every time you open your mouth to fill the air with your stupidity, you'll be eating shit."

With that, she strides past me and out the classroom door, leaving a wake of murmuring and whispers behind her. When Miss Langham finally does arrive, and we're all seated but hardly sedate, I try to figure out what's just happened, adamant that this had to be some sort of strange dream. After last night, I was already confused enough, thanks to Carrie, but now this?

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

* * *

_This took so long omf I'm SORREH. I read it like a week ago whenever panfs uploaded and I COMPLETELY FORGOT TO ADD IT TO MY STORY GOD I'D FORGET MY HEAD IF IT WASN'T SCREWED ON. _

_My chapter will be uploaded ASAP after I finish my short story competition entry so yeah. Fun. _


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